


Homecoming

by LizzieHarker



Series: The Only Truth We Know [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Barton POV, Clint and Buck are BFFs, Clint finally comes home, He missed his friends, M/M, Other, Steve and Buck both got makeovers, and his dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 11:12:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14669901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzieHarker/pseuds/LizzieHarker
Summary: CLINT'S BACK! And you know what that means . . .Other news: I'll be posting new fics the 15th of every month because real people have posting schedules. Or I need one so I write actual, useful backlog and not the five fics I have that don't take place for another eternity in the timeline. :D-----Follow meon Tumblr!





	Homecoming

Clint stood with his hands in his pockets as he looked over the coffee board. Part of him wanted to wave at the list and say ‘yes.’ His wallet said he could get a Venti latte. He deserved a fancy coffee after six months of . . . well. 

He deserved a fancy coffee. And an excuse.

He ordered and moved to the other side of the counter to wait, letting his gaze wander over the shop. Six months felt like an eternity to be away, but the atmosphere wrapped around him, blanket warm, welcoming. He’d missed the city, but the little ache in his chest hadn’t vanished when he’d gotten home. It was the lack of coffee. Yeah. That was it.

It wasn’t, and Clint damn well knew it.

His focus stopped at a table in the corner, at a familiar blond head bent over a notebook. Clint’s pulse tripped. Steve reached for his own coffee, brow furrowed. A second later, he went back to work, pencil moving across the page in staccato motions. Sketching, Clint thought.

For a second, he debated saying hello, and then decided against it. Steve’s busy, he’s working. Better not bug him. Clint hadn’t told anyone except Natasha that he was going back to New York after— well, after. Coffee had been his main objective; he hadn’t taken much with him in the first place, and moving from the safe house back into his apartment could wait. Sure, Clint could have made his own coffee at home, but Nat said to treat himself and no one in their right (or wrong) mind would have the guts to ignore her orders.

She’d know. Wherever she was, she’d _know_. 

Clint stepped back, decision made, fading into the press of other people desperate for overpriced beverages. He’d see Steve . . . later. He’d work up to it. He needed to called Katie and get Lucky back, and then maybe.

That little ache grew worse.

“Hawkguy?” the barista called.

Startled, Clint turned and took his coffee off the counter, stuffing a handful of bills into the tip jar. He’d gotten halfway to the door when he heard his name. Pretending he hadn’t heard was possible, but Steve sounded surprised, not angry. Guh, why would Steve be angry? He—

No. Shut up, brain.

Besides, Clint stopped moving. No use faking it. He looked over his shoulder. Steve stood, one arm up to hail Clint, a smile curving his lips. 

Oh. Well, what Clint could see of Steve’s lips beneath his beard. 

Clint carefully picked his way between tables and people, slowly making his way over. Okay. Act casual. Be polite. “Hey, Steve.”

The second Clint come into range, Steve moved around the table, pressed up on his toes, and wrapped his arms around Clint, burying his face in Clint’s neck. Clint hesitated. This . . . Had they ever . . . Well, yeah, Clint hugged him that one time, but this . . . 

And Steve didn’t let go. That ache in his chest he’d carried for half a year finally vanished, and Clint clung to Steve, relaxing into him. Clint hadn’t realized how touch starved he’d been, how much he’d needed something so simple. Hugs from Steve were great. He’d expected—wanted—a hug from Bucky, thought this moment would be with _him_ , but this was _Steve_ and-

“It’s good to have you home, Clint.”

Clint squeezed him a little tighter. After all the bullshit of chasing Barney down and failing to find him, and hating Barney for what he’d done to Clint (again), Steve’s kindness got to him, cracked through the anxiety that hadn’t gone away because Clint bailed before he knew things were right with his friends. But he’d had good reason to leave, even if it hurt: he’d need to _do_ something. To be useful. 

He’d always liked Steve. Clint had followed Cap because he _liked_ the guy, even when Captain America was just being polite and barely scraping by. Getting to know the _real_ Steve felt let being let in on a secret. Now he’d been given another gift. Until this moment—in the longest, verging-on-awkward in-public hug Clint had experienced—Clint hadn’t realized, despite everything, Steve was one of the best friends he’d had.

Steve didn’t let go until Clint did, stepping back to hold him at arm’s length, still smiling. People weren’t usually _glad_ to see him. “Pull up a chair. How was your trip?” 

Clint blinked, caught by surprise.

Steve laughed, nervous, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. I mean if you’re not up to anything, you’re welcome to join me. You probably just got in. Don’t let me keep you if you’ve got plans.”

“No, no, it’s great,” Clint said, pulling out the chair across from Steve’s. Had he ever spent time with Steve without Buck? Cap, sure. But _Steve_? This was awesome. “I got in last night. Figured the first thing I’d do was find you guys. Well, coffee. Then you.” He smiled back, reaching out to tug at Steve’s beard. “I missed you both. This looks great on you. Suits you.”

Steve blushed a bit and cupped his hands around his drink. “We missed you, too. Nat said you went to the beach?”

“Yeah. Got a little R&R, a sweet tan, one of those fruity drinks with the tiny umbrella, and I learned I can rock some Hello, Kitty bandaids.”

Steve chuckled. “Do I wanna know?”

“Nah. I’ll tell you both later. Was a good trip, though. I needed it.”

“You deserved it.” Steve took a sip of his drink.

Clint glanced at Steve’s notebook. Sketchbook, he corrected. A couple messy doodles were scattered across the page, circling a sketchy portrait of a woman across the room. Clint knew Steve had been artist before the war. Bucky mentioned his art every now and again, and yeah, there were the couple of pieces on display at those museums. Clint knew he had a little studio set up in their apartment, but he’d never seen Steve actually working.

The corner of Steve’s mouth curled up as he flipped the sketchbook to the beginning, turned it around, and pushed it toward Clint. Clint took a sip of his own coffee (aw, fancy latte, yes) and opened the book. He couldn’t help his own smile at Bucky’s profile on the first page. 

“All right, so I’m predictable,” Steve said. “I’m sure you’ll be super surprised to know I have about two dozen sketchbooks filled with my favorite subject. Well, _had_. I lost most of them when I put the Valkyrie down. They were either destroyed or sold to a museum or something. Dunno. I have one or two I managed to salvage from whatever was left of my possessions. Even when I was on the USO circuit, I drew constantly. Was the only thing that made me feel useful.” He shrugged. “I stopped after I woke up. It was all . . . too much. I missed it, but I’d lost so much, art didn’t seem to matter. Especially when all I wanted to draw was his face. Or hers.”

Clint kept his eyes on the pages: more sketches of Bucky, some of random people, half-detailed faces, a couple still-lives, a dog. “Steve, you’re really good. I mean _really_ good,” Clint said. He made a note to return the book he’d swiped from that cheap Coney Island tourist trap.

“Thanks. It’s been a long time. I’m not as good as I used to be, but I guess that comes with learning how to use this new body. I used to be able to curl up in an armchair and draw for hours. Relearning how to hold a pencil was awful,” he said with a chuckle. “Supersoldier serum didn’t exactly come with a user’s manual.”

Clint passed the sketchbook back. “Why now?”

A flush colored his cheeks for a moment. “Self-care. Technically speaking, I’m doing my homework.” Steve tapped his pencil against the page. “Therapy’s helped a lot. Bucky’s doctor got in touch with Sam and they helped me find someone to talk to. I honestly hadn’t realized just how many things I blamed myself for, how badly I hurt. I thought putting Bucky first, making sure he was okay, would make up for failing him. Didn’t realize I had PTSD, too.” 

Steve shook his head. “Okay, that’s a lie. I knew, but I didn’t think I needed help. Thought I could handle it alone. I never gave myself that chance, before.” He moved to a clean page, his pencil moving across the sheet. “After the train, I shut down. Put the plane in the water so I wouldn’t have to deal with— And then I woke up after what felt like a night’s sleep to find seventy years gone.” 

Steve drew his pencil across the page, only half paying attention, letting words fall out of his mouth. Clint had never heard him talk this much about anything. “It’s work, and it’s been difficult, but the more I can let go, the easier it is for me to focus on art. God, I’ve missed art.” The flush returned and he looked up. “Ah, that’s maybe too much information. Sorry, Clint.”

Clint shook his head. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re feeling better. You look happier. Lighter.”

“Yeah,” Steve muttered. He studied his coffee and Clint could feel him gearing up for something. 

Uh oh. Here it comes. Clint swallowed nearly half his latte out of nerves. 

Steve sat up. “I owe you an apology, Clint. I was wrong. I know you said you understand why I questioned you, but that doesn’t make it right. I should never have forced you to voice the things you wanted kept private. Everyone is entitled to their secrets. I fucking knew better than to accuse you in the first place, and in a hospital, no less. I shouldn’t have doubted you. You’ve always had Bucky’s back, and mine, and I can’t think of a way to apologize enough.”

Aw, feelings were so awkward. How did he make the apologies stop? “Steve, it’s fine,” Clint said. “Really. We’re good.” Yeah, it had sucked, but Clint didn’t blame him.

“It’s just, and I know it’s gonna take me a long time to sort out, but I was so goddamn scared, Clint, and I took all that fear and anger out on you. I’ve never been more exhausted. Every day felt like another fight and I’m so tired of fighting all the time. The only thing I want is for Bucky to be safe, happy, and healthy. Given my track record, I know that’s asking a lot, but after what happened . . .” Steve trailed off, looking miserable. “So I finally figured out how to ask for help.”

“That’s not asking for enough,” Clint said. “That’s like, the bare minimum of what the world owes you guys. You both deserve to be happy, and I’m not angry with you, Steve. Thanks for the apology, ” he said, raising one shoulder, letting it drop. “I mean it. We’re okay.”

Steve nodded. Clint settled back with his coffee, listening to the scratch of Steve’s pencil against the paper, hoping Steve believed him. It took a second for Clint to realize that beyond the uncomfortable sensation of too many emotions he felt calm, catching him off-guard. Stability had never something he had much of, ever, but that tangle of anxiety shifted into warmth. Things were okay. They were gonna be fine, the three of them. 

He tilted his head. Steve moved his hand enough that Clint could see his own face on the page, a snarky smirk curving his lips. He looked relaxed, happy. No one had drawn his portrait before (that he knew of, anyway), but something about the way Steve worked made that warmth in his chest spread. Steve was meticulous in most things, but this . . .this was care. 

Belatedly, Clint realized that Steve wasn’t drawing him, now, at this moment, but pulling things from memory. This wasn’t Clint as he was, but how Steve saw him: casual, a little sarcastic, an intelligent, mischievous light in his eyes.

Suddenly, he felt better than he had in months. It wasn’t his being useful; he was needed. Wanted. 

“Have you told Bucky you’re back?”

Clint almost fell out of his chair. Steve looked pleased with himself. Jerk. “No. Phone died. Figured I’d surprise him.” He finished off his coffee. Damn, that was good. “Then I thought surprises may not be the best idea, so I planned to text him when I got in. How’s he doing?”

“Real great,” Steve said. He clicked the top of his pencil and pressed the lead up before putting the sketchbook away. “He had a setback for a week or two after, but he’s doing so well. I’m grateful for his support. Plus, I’m trying to give him some space, too. Hence the whole ‘artist working in public’ thing. Ain’t a bad idea, though.”

“Uh, what isn’t?”

“Surprising him.” Steve finished off his own coffee, setting the empty cup on the table. “He’s making dinner. My ma’s spaghetti. Told him I’d stop off at the market on my way back and grab dessert. You’re welcome to join us. If you don’t have other plans,” Steve added.

Clint shook his head. Hanging out with Steve and Bucky? Best day ever. “Nope. No plans.”

Steve beamed. “He’s gonna be so excited to see you.” He clapped a hand on Clint’s shoulder as he gathered their trash.

Clint couldn’t wait to see Buck either. Six months was a long time to go without talking to his bestie. As he followed Steve out of the coffee shop, Steve slung his arm around Clint’s shoulders.

“Hold on.” Steve pulled his phone out of his pocket, putting it on speaker. It rang twice before connecting.

Bucky’s voice held his smirk. “Hey there, babydoll. On your way home?”

“Yeah. Did you want anything special tonight?”

“There’s about fifty things I can think of off the top of my head and most of them involve your dick and my mouth.”

Clint’s eyebrows shot up. Steve blushed from the tips of his ears down his neck as he turned away. “Jesus Christ, Buck.”

“Stop putting me on speaker phone and you won’t have this problem. You gonna make everyone listen to our conversation, I ain’t holding back.”

“Sorry,” Steve said, pushing another button on the screen before putting the phone to his ear. “Okay. Sure. Anything else?” Steve’s blush deepened. “Um, yeah. All right. See you soon. Love you.” He pocketed his phone, not quite looking at Clint. “Uh, market. Yeah. We’re gonna— yeah.”

Clint snorted. Steve’s blush faded by the time they’d reached the market. “So what’s Buck want for dessert?” Yup, Steve went right back to red.

“Something light. How do you feel about cannoli?”

“Love it.” Like Clint needed more sugar with that fancy latte buzzing through his veins. Coffee, dinner, dessert. He’d sleep amazing tonight.

Steve grabbed a couple a boxes of cannoli along with some other things, at one point disappearing entirely before nudging Clint toward the checkout. He made quick work of the purchasing and they continued on, Clint’s excitement growing the closer they got to the apartment. As great as hanging out with Steve could be, he’d missed his best bro. Postcards and a box of Russian pastries didn’t fill a six month absence, and besides, he’d never given Buck the chance to reply. Clint took the groceries while Steve fished out his keys, the scent of garlic, tomato sauce, and bread filling the hall as he opened the door.

“Sweetheart,” Steve called, taking back the bag and letting Clint inside. “I got a surprise for you.”

“You get something other than that lube I asked for?” Bucky answered.

Steve flushed, the color spreading from his hairline to below his collar. “Uh, no. But I’m pretty sure you’ll like this just as much.” 

Clint suppressed a snort. A pan clattered in the kitchen, and Bucky swore as a golden lab shot straight into the living room and toward Clint, leaping up to stand on his hind legs and paw at him excitedly, tongue lolling. Steve laughed. Clint dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around his dog. “Lucky! Hey, boy! Oh man, I missed you, buddy.” He let Lucky tackle him to the floor, content to be licked to death. Lucky couldn’t decide if he wanted to lay on Clint and never let him leave again, or play, or run around in joy. He couldn’t do everything at once but goddamn, he’d try. 

Bucky slid out of the kitchen after Lucky, lighting up the second he spotted Clint. A wide, toothy grin spread across his face and Clint barely had a moment to appreciate it as he hauled himself off the floor before Bucky tackled him, wrapping his arms around Clint’s chest and squeezing tight. 

“You brought me a bird boy!” he said, face buried in Clint’s neck.

As Clint squeezed back equally hard, his heart healed a little more. “Hey, Buck. Missed you, too.”

Bucky held onto him longer than Steve had, his grin still bright when he finally pulled away and cupped Clint’s face. “You look good, bro. All that sunshine and sand did wonders for ya,” Bucky said. He ruffled Clint’s hair, playing with the longer blonde locks. “I like the new look. Thanks for the post cards and the pastries.” He drew Clint close again, a looser hug. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“Me, too,” Clint said. He let his own fingers run over the close-shaved sides of Bucky’s head and into the longer top portion. “I like the undercut. You were hot before, but now you’re smokin.”

Bucky laughed and stepped back before throwing his arms around Steve’s neck, pressing up for a kiss. “Best present ever.”

Steve beamed, still holding Bucky in his arms. “Dinner smells great, Buck. Need any help?”

“Nah, I got it under control. Set the table for one more?”

Steve kissed Bucky’s cheek before taking the bag into the kitchen. Clint followed Bucky, his dog at his heels, the rich warm smell of dinner making his mouth water. After setting the groceries on the counter, Steve opened the cabinet to pull down another plate, picking up an extra set of silverware on the way to the table.

“Grab the pasta, Barton,” Bucky said, inclining his head toward the bowl. He opened the oven, the scent of fresh bread and garlic wafting into the room. Bucky slid the tray out with his metal hand as Steve walked back in.

Steve cringed. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“Sorry, pal.” He set the tray down on the stovetop, sparing an apologetic glance for Steve.

“Doesn’t that . . . hurt?” Clint asked, taking the bowl to the table. Bucky with short hair was on par with Steve and his beard on the list of Things Clint Needed to Get Used To. He set the pasta in the middle; Steve put the pot of sauce beside it. 

Bucky set the bread, now on a plate, next to the butter. “Nah. I can feel temperature and pressure, but it’s not like my right arm. Doesn’t hurt. No nerves.”

They finished setting the table, motioning for Clint to sit and help himself before they filled their own plates. Lucky set his head in Clint’s lap, waiting for pets, or meatballs, probably. Clint couldn’t help his grin; it felt good to be back. In fact, it took him a moment to realize he felt _settled_. Stability had always been a rare thing in his life, outside of Natasha and their bond, and never so much a place as it was certain people. Steve lit up with joy when he’d spotted Clint, and now, sitting with Buck and Steve over an actual dinner on real plates at an honest to god table, a warmth sparked inside his chest. 

He’d seen the two of them together a million times, but this was different: the light touches, the fond looks, the way they moved and breathed in sync. Happiness wrote itself across their skin, content and whole, and Clint thought again about how light Steve looked at the cafe. Steve being well meant Bucky being well, and he bet if he dropped his fork and looked beneath the table, their legs would be touching, or Steve’s foot would hook Bucky’s ankle. 

And goddamn, but Clint felt well, too. Sure, the injuries he hadn’t let heal (and then compounded) ached, but he’d been welcomed into Steve and Buck’s space, invited to share it, and with it share that peace, that grounding.

He shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth to keep from grinning like an idiot as they talked about what had happened while Clint was away. It was good to be _home_. 

Bucky watched him, a wry twist to his lips. “I’m flattered, Barton, but are you gonna tell us about the beach, or just keep making sex noises over your spaghetti?”

Clint swallowed his mouthful, eyes rolling in pleasure. “Oh, man, this is amazing. Could you pass the butter? Yeah, the beach was really great. I needed the downtime, and it’s been ages since I hit the ocean, and also I kinda razed Hydra to the ground. Oh! Remind me to pick up actual dog food for Lucky because apparently Kate got him hooked on the stuff while I was gone. Ah, thanks,” Clint said, taking the butter from a bewildered Steve. “Yeah, Katie-Kate starts feeding my dog actual made-for-dogs dog food because ‘he’s a dog, Clint, not you. He can’t live on pizza alone’—which: not true. There’s also coffee. And it’s not like I didn’t try to feed Lucky the proper stuff. He just likes pizza better. I can’t imagine how many texts I have from her. She started _emailing_ me.”

Steve and Bucky exchanged a look as Clint ran out of words. 

“You,” Bucky started, slowly. “You can have the bag we bought him. While we were pet sitting. Kate had some business outta town so we kept him occasionally. You wanna go back that part about Hydra?”

Clint met Bucky’s eye, sitting up straighter. “Yeah, uh, look. They’re not gonna bother you for a while. There’s . . .not many of them left. I was trying to find Barney, the lying futzing bastard, and well, I took most of them out. The ones I didn’t kill think you’re somewhere in Austria, maybe Spain. I corrupted their databases and left bread crumbs in a dozen different directions. Didn’t find my brother, though.” He paused, shifting in his seat. Awkward silence made him more nervous. “The spaghetti’s really good. Garlic bread’s great,” he said, stuffing a slice into his mouth.

Bucky blinked. “Thanks. I bought from the green market. It’s got whole cloves of garlic baked in,” he answered, baffled. “You fucking took out Hydra. For me?”

“For you both. You had a lot to deal with, and I . . . It’s Barney’s fault, and I needed to take care of it. After.” Clint shrugged. “You know. After. I wanted to help.”

Steve reached over, lacing his fingers through Bucky’s before catching Clint’s gaze. Clint held it, not quite shoving all the nerves away. Steve simply looked at him for a moment before nodding, a tiny gesture of acknowledgement. “Thank you.”

Clint sat up even straighter, a faint blushing warming his cheeks. He didn’t look away. “Sure.”

His friends relaxed a bit more, and Clint scratched Lucky between the ears. He slipped him a bite of meatball despite Kate’s “Don’t do futzing give him people food, ISTG Clinton,” warning. Like she’d know.

Actually, Kate had a scary knack for knowing everything, and Clint checked over his shoulders to make sure she wasn’t hiding somewhere in the living room.

“You okay there, bro?” Buck asked.

Clint thumped Lucky’s side; Lucky tried to scramble into Clint’s lap. “Yeah. I’m good.”

 

*

 

Dinner continued to be futzing _delicious_ and dessert proved equally amazing. Coffee and cannoli. Futz yes. And maybe he dropped a piece for Lucky. There was just no telling. Nope. None. Clint couldn’t be happier, with his best friends and his dog, and that warm calm feeling in his chest. They made up for Clint’s absence like he’d only been gone a week, and through it all, Clint saw how absolutely happy they were, and more over, how happy they were to have him back. He almost didn’t want to leave, but Lucky nudged his hand, and yeah, time to go home. 

Steve kept his arm around Bucky’s waist as they saw him off, pausing to give Lucky a last pet. Lucky licked at Steve’s face; he pulled away, nose wrinkled. 

Bucky chuckled, handing Clint the bag of dog food. “We’re gonna miss you, buddy. Please feed him the actual made-for-dogs dog food. Pizza is delicious but not ultimately sustainable. Plus look how nice his coat is!”

“We maybe took him to the groomers,” Steve added.

“Aw, I bet he loved that. Thanks, guys,” Clint answered. “Ready, Pizza Dog?” Lucky bumped against Clint’s hand again. “All right. And really, thanks for watching him, and feeding me, and feeding him.” He lifted the bag.

“No problem, man,” Bucky said.

Steve nodded. “You’re both welcome any time.”

Clint beamed, following Lucky out of the apartment and down the stairs. “Lookit that, boy. We got some good friends,” he said. Lucky barked in agreement.

And damn, it was nice to see his apartment, even if Kate had cleaned it. At least he could find the couch to flop down on. Lucky settled in and Clint dropped the new dog food onto the counter, nearly covering the note from Kate:

> **I’m serious. There’s more in the cabinet. No more people food. Trust me, I will know if you don’t feed him right.**
> 
> **Oh, yeah, and welcome home. I took care of basically everything for you while you were “relaxing” on the “beach,” you tanned sandhog. Nat helped. That's me, Kate Bishop, pretty much the _only_ Avenger. Hope you enjoyed those drinks with the little umbrellas. **
> 
> **Missed you, Hawkeye.**

“Aw, missed you too, Hawkeye.” 

He went digging in his drawers, trying to find the can opener he knew had to be somewhere, when he came across half a photo strip. Steve, Buck, and himself crowded into a photo booth, jostling each other for more room, stupid grins on their faces. He took the photo out and leaned back against the counter. He’d missed his birthday this year, according to his annual reminder from Nat (this year had been a corgi with a slice of cake), but when you didn’t remember your own birthday, who gave a fuck when you decided to celebrate? 

“I take it back, boy,” he said. Clint tucked the photos away and turned back to Lucky as he pulled the can opener out of the dish rack. “We got some _great_ friends.”

**Author's Note:**

> CLINT'S BACK! And you know what that means . . . 
> 
> Other news: I'll be posting new fics the 15th of every month because real people have posting schedules. Or I need one so I write actual, useful backlog and not the five fics I have that don't take place for another eternity in the timeline. :D
> 
> \-----
> 
> Follow me [on Tumblr!](http://lizzieharker.tumblr.com/)


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